#i know several hairdressers

[sleepanonymous]

mother token hear my prayer, what colour is iii's hair now?? it's so hard to tell in all the stage lighting gifs/videos so far and i am losing my mind

(ps. you're a gem i am feral for both the boys AND you xoxo)

Hello Anon 🖤🖤🖤 I literally don't know what to say except thank you so much 😳 I feel like I've never made anyone feral before so I'm screaming and kicking my feet 🥰

As for III's hair? I'm gonna say I am 100% sure it's straight up black. I agree that the lighting was very dim for most of the ritual, and that definitely contributed to a lot of the confusion around his hair color.

He also has an undercut now and I'm so 👀👀👀🖤🖤🖤 I'm hoping we get more clear photos of him with these upcoming rituals in Australia because damn!

TBH black is the easiest to do if he wanted to switch it up from the red he had at Wembley, if you take into account the fading color + root regrowth. He probably didn't want to go through the hassle of bleaching his roots right before an insane flight to Australia so he just went with black, which covers everything (I say this as someone who dyed her hair black for 6 years straight as a teenager/young adult).

As a side note: I would also bet money that he used boxed permanent hair dye. I can't see him re-dying it with semipermanent color every 3 weeks while on tour the next two months, unless he's literally gonna be rinsing the dye out with water bottles in alleyways behind venues 🤣

[hirazuki]

Me, episode 1: Oh, a relatable protag! And a relatable female protag, at that. Sweet! That never happens.

Me, a few episodes in: Wait, the protag really is going to be my character? The one I identify with the most? Seriously? It's not going to be a strange, at least somewhat sinister, seemingly hostile male side character? It's gonna be a female character and the protagonist? That's insane, that literally never happens... what's the catch??

Me, more than halfway through the season: ... huh, I guess Maomao really is it. Okay, then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Me to myself, after episodes 22/23:

[drowsyanddazed]

the most fun a girl can have on a sunday night is cutting her own hair under the yellow fluorescent light of her bathroom <3

[star-named-riddle]

Why am I like this?

Guess who got their hands on a prompt that's a dozen words long and is now 23 thousand words deep into it? Yep, it me.

I decided I wasn't going to collect another wip, so the first 15K is part one.

Part two is already 8K and nowhere near being done

Yes, this is about @womenofthehouseofblack and their amazing fest

Guess who has yet another fic quickly approaching the 5k mark also for that fest? Oh yes, it me. Too.

Blame the Black Sisters for it!

But please show up to AO3 in a few days because my insecure ass is going to need validation.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

The green-eyed monster

A/N: This was super random. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed this fic!

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ jealousy induced smut, lil choking and breeding kink?

Word count: 1941

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“Shit!”

You cursed under your breath as you checked your watch, you were running late. Later than fashionably late would permit. But you had a good reason to be. Your stylist and hairdresser had done you up to perfection, all the efforts were worth it because you looked stunning. The dress you chose hugged your curves like a glove, a bold lip, fine jewelry and hair that complimented the outfit beautifully.

The charity event was merely an opportunity to remind a certain someone of what he had been ignoring for the past few weeks. You had to teach him a lesson.

Reaching the venue at record speed, you stepped inside feeling the best version of yourself, immediately grabbing eyeballs of almost everybody present there. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the man of the hour. Anthony Stark. Looking dapper as ever in a custom-made tux, he was deep in conversation with several who’s who of the society, oblivious to your presence.

That would change soon, you thought.

Heading straight for the bar, you got yourself a glass of champagne, letting your gaze roam over the sea of people to find yourself a distraction. Lucky for you, you didn’t have to make much effort as a man from your past caught your eye and made a beeline in your direction.

“Y/N Y/L/N, as I live and breathe.” he exclaimed, wrapping you in a hug, his hand lingering on your bare skin.

“Noah Bennett. Since when did you start thinking about someone besides yourself?” you jested, celebrating on the inside as his eyes dipped down your body, letting you know your plan was working. From the corner of your eye, you saw a couple of people part to reveal Tony Stark with a curious look on his face.

“You look hot, Y/N. I’m sorry if I’m being too direct here but wow. Look at you!”

You laughed as he twirled you, placing a hand deliberately on his bicep.

“Always the flatterer. Honestly, it is so good to see you here, Noah. I hope you’ve made a sizable donation today. If not, I’m here to persuade you.” you winked, allowing him to get you another drink.

You spoke for quite some time, keeping the conversation light and flirty, you knew exactly what you were doing. Your boyfriend watched the whole scene from a distance, staring daggers at the man who had his hands all over his girl. He had zoned out of the conversation happening around him, focusing only on the two of you. You leaned over to whisper something in that man’s ear, all while his gaze dropped to your cleavage shamelessly, the guy chuckled before he did the same, making you shake your head and blush. It made his jaw tick, irritation bubbled within his chest watching the two of you.

A part of him wanted to intervene and pull you away from the creep, but another part who spoke on behalf of his pride refused. He remembered that man, he’d made a generous pledge for the charity. But right now none of that mattered as much as the fact that he had his arm around your waist, where it didn’t belong. ‘

As time passed, you chatted your way closer to where Tony was, not sparing him much of a glance as you worked your charm to get more rich people to donate for the good cause. Normally, the two of you would be inseparable but given the little fight you had had last week, it made sense for you to make separate appearances. Plus you had your little entry planned to teach him a lesson.

“Oh Y/N, the event is already a success. Well done! You’ve managed to charm everyone into emptying their pockets.” an elderly gentleman complimented you, making you giggle. Ulterior motives aside, the evening truly was a big win.

“When the hostess is easy on the eyes, I guess it helps a lot, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Stark?”

You felt his presence before you saw the man, the familiar scent and aura that he carried enveloped your senses before a protective arm slid around your waist, pulling you to his side.

“And here I thought I’d have to undo a couple of my shirt buttons to make you guys cough it up.”

His statement earned him laughter from the crowd, his thumb rubbing the bare skin on your back in a way that made your breathing hitch. Turning to look at him, you were met with eyes that ogled your decked up form, the gaze was hungry yet mixed with a hint of annoyance.

Tony leaned over and pressed his lips against your ear, making it hard for you to ignore the excitement you felt.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

You feigned confusion, shrugging nonchalantly before taking a sip of your drink, further adding to his irritation. It seemed to be the last straw as Tony grabbed your hand and hastily made his way out of the venue, leaving the guests perplexed.

He remained silent the entire ride back home, keeping his eyes focused on the road. You noticed his knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel tightly.

This would be a lot of fun, you thought. Winding Tony up had an effect on you, you couldn’t wait for him to have his way with you. Pretty confident that sooner or later he would. The night wasn’t over yet.

“You slept with the guy, didn’t you?” he asked out of the blue, still not sparing you a glance.

“Which guy?”

“Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” he seethed, putting his foot on the gas and sped up.

“Oh and where did you get that idea from, may I ask?” you suppressed a grin, keeping the tone of your voice light.

“I have eyes. I can see. Someone was way too touchy back there. I don’t like it when others touch my stuff.”

This made you scoff and look out the window as your home came into view. You didn’t move from your seat until Tony opened your door and grabbed your hand once again, taking determined strides up to your house.

“Are you jealous?” you were slightly out of breath keeping up with his pace, the smirk in your voice pretty evident.

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Oh no, you’re right. You just get territorial, and protective. And just a tad needy, right?”

Clicking his tongue, Tony shoved you inside your bedroom, slamming the door behind him before crashing his lips on yours. This kiss had fire, brimming with passion but laced with anger as he walked you back until your back hit the wall, eliciting a gasp. Taking this opportunity, his tongue made it past your lips, clearly winning the game of dominance.

“I think you forgot that you have a partner who needs all your attention before any of your ‘friends’ do.” he murmured against your lips before letting them trail down your neck, nipping at your skin.

“So you were jealous.” you smirked, tugging on his hair as he bruised your skin with a hickey, his fingers grazing up your leg to reach between them, growling when he realized you weren’t wearing panties.

“Fuck yeah I was.” his hand cupped your sex, fingers brushed along the slit that had gathered slick already. Without warning, two of his fingers pushed past your entrance, assaulting your walls by stretching them out.

“Take off your dress.” he commanded, his left hand wrapping itself around your throat gently, his brown eyes darkened with lust.

“You don’t get to order me around.” you didn’t sound convincing at all, given that he chose the moment to curl his fingers inside your tight heat, you gasped.

“Slow down, Tony.” You breathed.

“Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”

The pressure on your throat increased ever so slightly, causing your walls to tighten around his thick digits as he continued pumping. Your eyes were shut in pleasure when you heard the fabric of your dress rip, falling at your feet in shreds. The dress you spent thousands of dollars on was destroyed in seconds, not that you were complaining. If anything, you were counting on this to happen.

Tony made you open your mouth and fed you his fingers, the taste of your desperate arousal evident on them as you rolled your tongue. His cock twitched in his dress pants, eager to be freed and buried deep within your pussy.

You fumbled with his belt, undid the zip and shoved his pants down, earning a chuckle from him. Your eyes flashed victory before arousal took over completely, your body ached for him.

Holding the back of your knees, he entered you in one swift motion, a synchronic moan echoed in the room. Tony didn’t hold back after that, his thrusts set a brutal pace that made you see stars, the line of pleasure and pain thinning as he continued to plough into your sopping heat.

“You like being reminded who you belong to, don’t you sweetheart?” He grunted, every thrust sent you closer and closer to the edge.

Fervently nodding, you held onto his shoulders as cock threatened to split you in two, unable to comprehend much else.

“Cat got your tongue? Use your words, baby.”

“Yes! I wanted you to get jealous tonight, Tony.”

He paused momentarily, making you whine which he swallowed in an instant, slanting his lips on yours. The kiss that contained everything, from dominance to love and everything in between. While he felt guilty for ignoring you these past few weeks, a part of him loved you for your antics, especially ones which ended like this.

His cock twitched inside your walls as he resumed.

“What if I come inside you, huh? What if I fill you up with my seed, get you pregnant? Show them all who you belong to..what do you say, sweetheart?”

He breathed against your skin, his voice muffled in your hair. You answered by clamping your walls around his length, pulling him further inside, tugging on his hair to signal you were close too.

“I’m gonna fill you up, Y/N.” he panted, watching your hand reach down to rub your clit as you brought yourself pleasure.

“Come for me, Tony. Come inside me.” You cried, burying your face in his neck as your walls fluttered around his length. Tony followed with a final twitch of his cock, ropes of cum painting your walls as he filled you up, giving you all he had.

He carried you to bed, still snug inside you and laid you down, littering soft kisses along your shoulder. You grinned victoriously, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell him we’re together? He was all over you.” He kept his voice soft, tugging at your heartstrings as always.

“You did what you did to get my attention, and I did what I had to to get yours. Now we’re even.”

Tony looked up at your face, his expression incredulous with a hint of pride playing on his lips.

“You little minx. Have I told you I love you?” He pecked your lips a couple of times, slowly resuming to thrust inside you with his soft cock, pushing his cum further inside and keeping it there.

“Not that I recall. No.”

[kewlgal0909]

made up some random homicipher backstory headcanons for the characters because im bored af right now

I'm kinda going off the thing from the game that some of the ghosts in the otherworld used to be humans for these headcanons so. Also pls don't take these things seriously & they might be inconsistent with the actual canon of the game because some of these I just pulled outta my ass ok.

+ might delete later if I eventually find this cringe but idk man.

Mr. Crawling

One of the oldest residents in the otherworld. He's been here since old Japan days

Him and Scarletella actually used to be friends back when he was alive

Something happened between them during that, which caused their friendship to fall apart

One day his village was suddenly attacked, was severely wounded, but escaped

He then somehow crawled his way to the ghost apartments, where he was found by Scarletella

He pleased Scarletella for help but he didn't do anything, simply watching as he slowly died

He's been wandering the otherworld ever since and warned people he could find to stay away from a man dressed in all-red

I definitely did not pull so much shit about them outta my ass all because I ship scarling. Definitely not

Mr. Silvair

used to be a med student

likes horror movies & urban legends

one rainy day, he saw the ghost apartments & strolled in out of curiosity... little did he know he would be trapped forever

his time as a med school student & his lile of horror eventually gave way into the making of his "research" room

Hairdresser (she's so underrated tbh)

Was a highschool girl prior to becoming a ghost

Parents owned a hair salon

Was bullied in school

One day, her bullies planned to prank her by taking her stuff and telling her that it's somewhere in the ghost apartmenys

She goes in to search for her stuff, but never comes back

The Bride

Used to be a known dressmaker in her town

Died in a car crash on the way to her wedding after the car's driver tried to avoid hitting a red figure that suddenly appeared in the rain

The reason she's headless is not because she was decapitated, but because it resembles all the headless mannequins she used to work with during her dressmaking days

Mr. Gap

Used to be a shut-in while he was alive

Chronically online, rarely left his room, and often ordered stuff online to survive

The delivery men were often creeped out by him whenever he opens his door since he looked musty af + his room was always dark

Had a bunch of online friends

One day, he opens his door to find a man in all-red, asking for his name

Confused, he tells the mysterious man his name

Then later was suddenly found dead in his room, his heart mysteriously gone from his corpse

Mr Scarletella

probably the only one in the cast to have never been human idk

can actually kinda speak human language unlike the rest??

that's the only things I could come up about him rn sorrrrryyyy

Mr Hugeface

got lost & became a ghost after he entered the ghost apartments in search of his lost pet

Was alot taller than his peers

idk about him he was a last minute addition

Miscellaneous:

I came up with a tiny headcanon that the reason mr silvair, the hairdresser, hugeface & eventually the MC have white hair is because they were the humans that had once willingly entered the apartments prior to getting trapped there

[fastboatsmojito]

so excited to join the party!! can i request royalty au + forbidden romance trope for royal chef carmy x princess reader? if you also want to include possessive sex from the smutty prompts well 🤭 that’s up to you!

huge congrats on 100 !!!

Omfg I was going to work on some other reqs first but this actually took over all of my thoughts the second it came in so 🧎everyone say thank you Maggie <3

Royalty au from this prompt list + forbidden romance from this prompt list for my 100 followers party !

| a/n; God this was such a fun one

| cw; 18+ smut btc ! Mostly plot + a touch of smut at the end, fem reader <3

| wc; 979

It started slow, an innocent couple of words on the napkin afforded to you along with your breakfast. Your lovely hairdresser giggling with you as you sat in front of the mirror, admiring the not-so-neat handwriting from an apparent admirer.

The note read; ‘Good morning her highness, how I do wish to meet you someday.’ simple and respectful, missing only the name of whomever wrote it. Anyone else would have thought nothing of it, discarding the note along with their breakfast even, but it had gotten lonely in the castle.

October bringing in chilly winds through the linen fabric adorning your open windows, almost enough to blow out the candle dripping next to you as you sat. Longingly looking out at the kingdom as you held your newest possession, dreaming about the face behind the words.

Of course you had the clue that it was someone from within the castle, but this wasn’t much help seeing as so many people came in and out every day.

You’d briefly spoken about it to several staff around the castle as you went about your day; gossiping with the gardener turning into finding out just how many kitchen staff there were. Far too many for a single princess to go through them all separately, so it only made sense to begin with the chefs.

A task you’d fit in somewhere between having another portrait painting, insisted upon by your mother of course, and piano lessons - a hobby you’d become quite fond of.

After sitting for so long you figured you needed a snack anyway, skipping about the castle in your most breathable of dresses, finally reaching the doors of the kitchen.

You received quite a few curious glances as you walked in, the only one not in all white. You smiled and nodded until you felt your cheeks beginning to hurt, always courteous as you made your way to the back.

“Your highness?” A voice beckoned from behind you, turning around to find a red-cheeked, seemingly nervous chef.

“Chef.” You greeted, giving him a polite curtsy as he bowed his head. How cute.

“If I may, what’s a princess like yourself doing back here?” He asked simply, shaky as he held his hands behind his back.

“I’ve come to find someone, actually. Might you know who wrote this?” You pulled the napkin out of your dress pocket - insisted upon by yourself, pocket-less dresses were of no real use.

He seemed taken aback that you were holding it, getting redder in the face if that was even possible, quietly nodding as he stared a hole into the note.

“It was me.” He said it so quietly you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly over the slowly rising chaos of the kitchen behind you.

“You?” You looked at him more observantly then, eyes following the few curls that had fallen in front of his face, over the still rosy apples of his cheeks, and back into the icy blue eyes looking back at you. Oh yes, he would do just fine.

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You were certain your parents would berate you for it as you brought him back to your room, giggling about the castle as you held his hand and guided him in, all but sprinting as befuddled servants passed you.

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t make it all the better, the kind, incredibly handsome chef of all people being brought back to a princesses bedroom. Ever the dramatic, you quietly closed your door after he’d walked in, clasping your hands together as you walked to your bed.

He seemed fond of all the pink, lacy, beauty around the room, quiet as he courteously removed his chefs coat and folded it in his arms.

You beckoned him over with a finger, grinning at him from under the draped fabric over your bed. He walked over slowly, face still pink like he’d just come in from the snow.

“My parents will certainly have a few things to say about this, but I’m not sure I care. You’re cute.” You stated simply, hands in your lap as he sat down next to you.

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, your highness.” He was so kind it was dazzling, not in the way that everyone was kind simply because you were a princess. In his own selfless, pure, way, like he couldn’t possibly speak to you any different if he tried.

“Please do, it’s been so boring lately. Though you simply mustn’t call me your highness while we’re alone.” You explained, giving him your name to which he returned with a held out hand and his own.

“Carmen.” He brought your hand up to his mouth the second it was in his own, chaste kiss causing a warmth to greet your own face.

A lovely name for a lovely man, something you could hear yourself calling out. A name you would be calling out later that night, from the comfort and warmth of his hands along your sides in your bed, to the bubbly water of the bath as you called for him to come into the relaxing water with you.

“Carmen,” You repeated, his hand still holding your own, allowing his thumb to run across the divots of your ring.

“Can I kiss you?” You weren’t completely sure you were doing any of this correctly, certainly not to the standards of anyone who did this sort of thing normally, again - the castle had been lonely lately. Though by the look on his face he wasn’t certain either, giving you a slow nod as his hand found the side of your face.

The entire kingdom would surely have both of your heads if they found you under him, frilly dress hiked up all the way to your waist as breathy sighs fell from both of your mouths - but they didn’t have to know. Not yet.

[natailiatulls07]

Do you have anymore platonic fics in those drafts of yours 👀

The f1 fandom has a severe drought of those and your my supplier lol

The Menace

Austin Butler x female!reader Formula one grid & female!driver!reader

Summary - After Y/n’s boyfriend cheated on her, she really had that post break up glow!!

Warning - swearing, alcohol, cheating, break ups

A/n - Your wish is my command, currently sat in the hairdressers with toner on lolll 😚

Few notes -

1. No shame to Austin Butler

2. Face claim is Kaia Gerber

3. Reader drives for Ferrari, taking Carlos’ spot

-

f1gossip

Rumour has it: Ferrari driver Y/n L/n and her boyfriend, actor Austin Butler have been rumoured to be broken up after Butler was seen in a club just outside of London Soho. L/n had to dnf from the Sunday race in São Paulo last weekend after her car suffered some mechanical damage in the formation lap.

Liked by username and 2,836 others

username After the season Y/n had this year in Ferrari, she doesn’t deserve this!!!

username Oooo he has fucked up!

= username Lost a rare find, he’ll never find one like herrrr

username Y/n just get with me, I’ll treat you right😚

f1gossip

Rumour has it: After it was rumoured that Ferrari driver Y/n L/n and actor Austin Butler had broken up, L/n was seen this morning supposedly with bloodshot and puffy eyes on the streets of not so sunny Monte Carlo. With a few days to go until the new Las Vegas Grand Prix, how will Y/n spend her short time off?

Liked by username and 3,922 others

username Poor girl is going through a breakup but paparazzi still want to barge into her busy, disgusting 😒

username She still slays tho!!

username I would say she’ll get redemption in Vegas but with the car atm I highly doubt

= username AGREED

username Hoping for a post break up glow 🥹

= username OMFG CAN YOU IMAGINE 🥵🤤

scuderiaferrari

Las Vegas…we’re coming for you

Liked by f1 and 87,926 others

username Hoping for a good Ferrari weekend pleaseee

username After Y/n’s break up she deserves a miracle this weekend 🙌🏻

username Charles what are you wearing??? 😃

username Just wait it we all see Austin crawling back for her, just you wait!!

username Polar opposites, Charles all dressed up and Y/n keeping it simple but effective

username Please someone beat Max and get first PLEASEEE

yourusername

Any boys in Las Vegas, I’m here early but please no Elvis 🤮

Liked by georgerussell and 107,936 others

username YOOO MISS GURL

username She really out here shaming him publicly. Love it 😍

landonorris And this is why we call you the menace

= yourusername So glad I live up to the name 😋

username austinbutler Look what you missed out on loll

username Not her mentioning his biggest role and then putting a throwing up emoji next to it LMAO

maxverstappen1 Y/n don’t get to crazy

= yourusername No promises 😇

= danielricciardo She is definitely going to get black out drunk tonight omfg

= maxverstappen1 100%

austinbutler

Never really liked red Ferrari, it’s tacky and old fashioned

Liked by username and 54,926 others

username Oh shit he’s fighting back!!

username Their pr teams are gonna be so annoyed with both of them frrr

username Patiently waiting for mother to put him in his rightful spot 😌

yourusername Everyone is a ferrari fan, even if they say they’re not, they are Ferrari fans - Sebastian Vettel 😚

~~ Liked by sebastianvettel and 123,037 others

username OMFG SHE SNAPPED BACKKK

username The Menace is back at it again!! 🙌🏻🙌🏻

charles_leclerc Sort yourself out mate

~~ Liked by yourusername and 109,935 others

username Not both Ferrari drivers clapping back LMAO

yourusername

Babes get over yourself 🍾

Liked by lewishamilton and 113,025 others

username Girl really said ‘Calm your fucking ego down’ 🙌🏻

username LOVING THIS 🤍🤍

username Hot ass female driver and some random drivers

sebastianvettel Loved see the grid again, thank you

= yourusername Always 🫶🏻

username austinbutler

username You just know that Y/n and Lewis were best dressed there!! Hands down!!

mickschumacher You definitely brought the party 👏🏻👏🏻

= yourusername It’s my job Mickey!!

username THE CAPTION She really is the menace!!! 🤩

f1 posted a story

username FERRARI DRIVERS ARE SERVING CUNT OMFG 😍😍

username Y/n is really showing her really style and I’m living for itttt

username THE HAIR SUNGLASSES MAKEUP AND WHOLE OUTFIT 🥵🥵

username Charles really let her have spot light and rightfully so!!!

username Austin really fumbleddd

-

[otmaaromanovas]

Do you know what the girls liked to read and what their interests were ?

Hello! I have tried my very best to include detailed quotes and information about OTMA's interests and what they liked to read, so this is quite a long post!

Olga

Olga sometimes played the piano and sang, and she was considered the best pianist out of the family. Sophie Buxhoeveden recalled that

"She could play by ear anything she had heard, and could transpose' complicated pieces of music, play the most difficult accompaniments at sight, and her touch on the piano was delightful. She sang prettily in a mezzosoprano. She was lazy at practising, but when the spirit moved her she would play by the hour."

Olga also had a playful streak, and would enjoy playing practical jokes on her tutors when she was a child. When she was older, she sometimes joined in Anastasia's mischief. From a letter to her father in 1915:

“I am sitting in Mr. Gilliard’s rooms near the door of his water-closet where Trina’s little nasty girl Katya is sitting locked in by Anastasia and myself. We’ve just drawn her along the dark passage and pushed her in... Katya is still locked in the W.C. She is knocking and wailing behind the door but we are implacable"

Katya is thought to have been one of Ekaterine 'Trina' Schneider's maids, Ekaterina 'Katya' Zhivaya.

Fittingly, Olga seemed to enjoy comedy books. She sometimes wrote about the books she was reading in her diary:

Friday, 12 August 1916: "[I was] lying down in the hammock and read the second part of “Surgery.”" Sunday, 23 October 1916: "After 10 o'cl. came over and read Sladkopevtsev's funny short stories" Wednesday, 20 November 1916: "After 11 o'cl. to bed. Read V gostyakh u turok [Visiting the Turks] by Leikin."

I think that on 23 October, Olga is referring to Vladimir Vladimirovich Sladkopevtsev, a writer and actor who authored over 300 short stories. Nikolai Alexandrovich Leikin was a satire and comedy writer, and his book Visiting the Turks, part of a comedy series about a traveller, was published in 1897.

Olga brought several books with her to the Ipatiev house, including religious and history books:

And Mary Sings Magnificat, a religious book with handwritten prayers and poems composed by Olga, another interest of hers.

The Eaglet, which I believe is the Russian edition of Edmond Rostan's play based on the life of Napoleon II

The Princess and the Goblin, a children's fantasy book, gifted to Olga when she was a child by her aunt Irene

France in All Ages, a gift from Nicholas II, likely a history book

Tatiana

Tatiana had an interest in needlework and embroidery, regularly sewing clothing and blouses for herself, her sisters, and her friends. Whilst OTMA were all taught needlework by their mother, Tatiana was the most skilled. Anna Vyrubova remembered that Alexandra's "best pupil" was Tatiana,

"who had an extraordinary talent for all kinds of handwork", making "beautiful blouses and other garments, embroideries and crochets".

Tatiana also enjoyed fashion. Vyrubova also remembered that:

"she was able on occasions to arrange her mother's long hair, and to dress her as well as a professional maid"

Similarly, Sophie Buxhoeden noted that Tatiana would step in to style hair when the usual hairdresser was unavailable.

"Tatiana Nicolaevna loved dress. Any frock, no matter how old, looked well on her. She knew how to put on her clothes, was admired and liked admiration."

Tatiana's interest in fashion was reflected in her diary, where she noted when they were measured for dress fittings and that her and her sisters had a hairdresser that would curl their hair for special occasions. Similarly, she described having their heads shaved in 1917 as a "horror", but, ever sensible, noted that "now we feel comfortable".

Tatiana also had an interest in Russian history, particularly when she got to help with Alexei's lessons during 1917 to 1918. She enjoyed reading, and makes more references to reading for pleasure in her diaries than Olga does, but unlike Olga she tended not to give the titles of the books she was reading. She mentions reading “The Wide Wide World" to Maria, which was a popular novel written by American author Susan Warner in 1850, that has Christian moral lessons as its core.

Tatiana brought many books with her to the Ipatiev House. A few had annotations that Tatiana wrote, and flowers that she kept between the pages. The majority of books that Tatiana brought with her were religious, many inscribed by Alexandra Feodorovna and appear to have been gifts to Tatiana during 1917-1918. These included:

Our Lady of Beneficence

Book of Hours - I believe that these were read accompanied by prayer

Letters on the Christian life

On the Patience of Sorrow

The Life and Miracles of St. Simeon the Righteous of Verkhotursk - St. Simeon was patron saint of the Ural region

The Life of Our Father St. Seraphim of Sarov - Nicholas II approved St. Seraphim's canonisation, and the events for the solemn canonisation were attended by the Imperial family

Tatiana also brought several moral and religious books gifted to her during her childhood and teenage years, including:

Great Canons of St. Andrew of Crete

Collection of Services, Prayers and Hymns

The Beauty of Self-Control - published in 1911, this was an instructional book advocating for a Christian lifestyle

Non-religious books include

The Wider Life

Life's Open Door

The Brave Life - a book by Lidiya Charskaya, who was a very popular author for Russian girls. It tells the tale of a noble girl who decided to join the army as a cavalryman

Fables of La Fontaine - considered classics in French literature, funny short stories for children

Anthology of Childhood

Tatiana also had several history books

The History of Peter the Great - written by historian and children's writer, Sofya Afanasevna Chistyakov

Tales of Shakespeare - likely the popular children's book written by siblings Mary and Charles Lamb. They summarised different Shakespeare plays, making them suitable for young children. Mary wrote the vast majority, however her name was omitted from the authorship declaration for years in favour of her brother.

Tatiana was a fan of classics, writing to her friend Zenaide Tolstaya "I read a lot. I decided to read all the books by our best writers from the beginning to end! I also read books in English and French." Olga wrote in her diary on Saturday, 3 December 1916 that "Tatiana read “Gdye apelsini zreyut” [Where the Oranges Blossom]", another travel comedy by Leikin.

Maria

Maria had a strong interest in drawing and painting. She was naturally left handed, and like many people in the past, was encouraged to write with her non-dominant right hand instead. However, when she did art, she was able to use her left hand, which I imagine was much more comfortable!

This is confirmed in a letter from Russian tutor Pyotr Vasilievich Petrov to Olga, where he wondered whether Maria

"does not want to write [a letter] because she is not allowed to write with her left hand, and the right one refuses to write"

In 1916, Alexei asked Maria if she could draw a picture of his spaniel, Joy, for him

"16 December 1916. My dear darling Alexei! I don’t know how big you want me to draw Joy, but I will give it a go, and if it doesn’t turn out, I can do it again…. I have just tried to sketch Joy but it didn't work out because I don’t really remember what he looks like and it ended up looking nothing like him, so I won’t send it to you. When you bring Joy to me, then I will be able to draw him."

Sophie Buxhoeveden remembered:

"[Maria] alone of the sisters, had a decided talent for drawing, and sketched quite well, always with her left hand"

You will also notice that a lot of Maria's photograph albums are 'hand tinted', where she has painted over the photos to add colour.

Maria was also very interested in children, and loved spending time with babies and kids. She loved visiting the local 'Nanny school', an orphanage. In 1914 she wrote to friend Olga Vorovona that she enjoyed visiting them:

“such awfully sweet darlings... We gave them all presents and they were so happy with them and each one showed their nanny what they got…. I love little children so awfully much, play with them and carry them in my arms. Do you love babies?"

Four books belonging to Maria were found at the Ipatiev House. Interestingly, two of these appear to have been textbooks from her lessons. They were:

On Paris - I believe this was written by popular author Vasily Petrovich Avenarius

Visual Teaching of Foreign Languages

Reflections

The Role and the Ring - perhaps the narrative poem by Thomas Browning?

Anastasia

Anastasia thoroughly enjoyed acting and mimicry. She always participated enthusiastically in plays staged by the children, and was remembered by many people who knew her as an excellent mimic.

"She had a comic gift as a mimic, picking out people's foibles in a way that made everyone laugh. "What a bundle of mischief," recalls her godmother, Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, the Tsar's sister."

She liked to tease her tutors to make them laugh, going as far as "throttling" Pierre Gilliard. Sydney Gibbes, her English tutor, recalled her walking into class dressed as a chimney sweep, covered in soot, and sat down as if nothing was amiss, causing lots of laughter amongst her siblings.

"Through the years he preserved from Tobolsk two cheap exercise books, each labelled ‘English’. ‘M. Romanof’ had written her name on one label. The other book belonged to A. Romanova (Shut Up!) Tobolsk 1917-1918.’ Grand Duchess Anastasia, more exuberantly talkative than her sisters, seized on one of Gibbes’s exasperated moments. When he told her to shut up, she asked him how to spell it and adopted it as her nickname."

In a letter to Russian tutor Pyotr Vasilievich Petrov, she expressed her annoyance at him by purposefully filling the letter with spelling mistakes:

"Wikied P.V.P. I am very, very upsit with you. Why didn’t you write a litter to Maria and me? I’m telling you, you are very, very bad, extremely bad even. Maria and I have written you so meny letters and you haven’t replied. I am going to make mystakes on purpose. I alredy see where I made mystakes. Anastasia. 1909. 9 November."

Anastasia also enjoyed shopping. Her nanny, Sophia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, recalled how

""Anastasia Nikolaevna was especially attracted to stores, where they sold doll shoes of various sizes…""

It's a common myth that OTMA did not go shopping - you can read more about the truth here

Only a few books belonging to Anastasia were found at the Ipatiev House, four books of essays.

The children also enjoyed the Sherlock Holmes stories, which their father read aloud to them, including The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Nicholas also read many of Chekhov's short stories to the children, including:

"The Duchess" - often translated as 'The Princess', a story about a narcissistic princess who encounters modest monks

"The Witch" - about a husband who thinks that his wife is a witch who has summoned a snowstorm

"To the Court of Law" - I believe this is an alternative translation for "The Court", a satire on the judiciary system

"The Incident" - about two siblings debating the parentage of kittens

"The Enemy" - about the grief of a doctor who lost his son

This was a very long post, but I do hope that you found it helpful! I don't have my Maria and Anastasia books on me at the moment, so please forgive me for not including more books that they read :')

Sources

Anna Vyrubova, Memories of the Russian Court, (London: MacMillan and Co, 1923)

GARF 640-1-1318

George Hawkins, Alexei - Russia's Last Tsesarevich: Letters, diaries and writings Part One: 1904 – 1915, (Independently Published: 2022)

Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings, (Independently Published, 2021)

Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Maria Romanov: Third Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters 1908-1918, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2019)

Helen Azar, Tatiana Romanov, Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters, 1913-1918, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2015)

Helen Azar, The Diary of Olga Romanov : Royal Witness to the Russian Revolution, (Yardley: Westholme Publishing, 2013)

Helen Azar, The Romanov Family: Books They Left Behind (Ekaterinburg)

Sophie Buxhoeveden, The Life and Tragedy of Alexandra Feodorovna, Empress of Russia, (London: Longmans, Green & Go, 1929)

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

It is in the Details

He had always been meticulous, even as a child. It was his brother who taught him to observe and to keep an eye out for tiny details. 

“The more subtle, the more elegant people will find you. Whether it is your attire or your movements. That way, they will not question your ulterior motives,” Mycroft told him.

Sherlock considered this, and when Mycroft bought him the Belstaff and had added the red buttonhole, he understood. It added an eye-catching sophistication to the garment. The fact that it was one of a kind, made it even more special.

Before he attended his first official crime scene, Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, used a fair amount of his inheritance on expensive hair products, had a bespoke cologne made, purchased Italian leather shoes, and spent an agonising hour at one of Savile Row’s tailors to have his measurements taken.

“Only blue and black suits. A dozen white shirts. Two of the aubergine ones over there. Two of that shade of blue. No ties.”

The tailor didn’t even bat an eyelid when Sherlock made his order and insisted that everything should be tightly fitted.

“I need to breathe, but that’s about it.”

“Of course,” the tailor replied.

***

“Who are you, and what have you done with that high as a kite kid who turned up and solved a crime for me last year?” Greg Lestrade asked when Sherlock strode towards him.

“Gone. I’m clean as of last month. Just what you commanded, detective inspector,” Sherlock drawled. “Now, where are the bodies?”

Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson weren’t as easily dazzled by his newly invented persona, but Sherlock saw them as irrelevant, so he didn't care about being offended by their snarky comments.

***

“Just look at you,” Mrs Hudson cooed when Sherlock knocked on her door.

Her favourite colour is still purple. Recently been to the hairdresser. Didn’t get that cat after all.

“Hello, Mrs Hudson. Lovely to see you again. Are you still renting out the upstairs flat?”

“I take it you are interested,” the elderly woman said and winked. “Don’t you think it’s a bit big for just you. A flatmate would be nice. What do you say?”

“Who would tolerate living with me?” Sherlock answered with a grimace.

“Oh, come now, Sherlock. Deep down you’re as fluffy as a plushie,” she stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went upstairs to take a proper look at 221B.

It was cluttered, but the atmosphere was cosy, even though it hadn’t been inhabited for several months. 

It feels like a proper home, but do I want to share it with another man? I’ve never lived with other people than my family before. None of my peers tolerated me for more than a few minutes at a time. I find it hard to believe that somewhere out in the London streets, a man walks around willing to share this flat with a pompous and infuriating git as myself. It would be nothing short of a miracle if that was the case.

***

“Sherlock, meet an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike called out when he walked into the lab.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired man. To Sherlock’s astonishment this John Watson offered to let him borrow his phone when Sherlock asked Mike for his, even though he knew it was safely tucked into his coat pocket.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The awe in the man’s eyes, made Sherlock look away quickly to hide his own confusion. No one had ever gazed at him like that.

“Who said anything about a flatmate?” John asked when he’d gathered himself after Sherlock’s rapid deductions about his career, family, and wound.

“Mike did,” Sherlock explained and put on his coat and scarf with deliberate movements.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at my hands and neck, John Watson.

***

“Will you be needing the upstairs bedroom?” Mrs Hudson asked when she followed him and John into 221B the next day.

John blushed but didn’t answer, which was quite promising.

“We’ll let you know,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We have all sort around here,” she assured them before she went down to her own flat.

John placed his cane by the red chair and wandered around to look at all the eccentricities the flat had to offer. The more he walked around, the less he limped, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction.

“Yes, I think this will do just fine,” John said and made himself comfortable in the upholstery chair.

***

“How did you get glitter in your hair?” John asked two days before Christmas later that year.

“I went to Liberty’s to buy some decorations for our tree,” Sherlock said.

“What happened to the Grinch I moved in with in February?”

“He fell in love with an ex-army doctor with a psychosomatic limp,” Sherlock quipped.

“Did he, now,” John murmured and circled his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock hummed and bent down to kiss John softly.

“Noticed anything else?” he asked innocently and a bit breathless when they parted.

“I did actually. You’ve been to your tailor,” John said with a broad smile.

“Tell me,” Sherlock purred and sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Just spotted some small things. Your shirt isn’t tucked into your trousers in its usually way, one button is only half buttoned, and your left trouser leg has a – “

Sherlock interrupted John’s deductions with a passionate kiss. He looked down into the blue eyes and it felt like he was drowning in a sea of adoration.

“You are a marvel, John Watson,” he whispered.

“Just paying attention to the details that are out of order,” John shrugged, a bit embarrassed by such praise.

“A shame you only catch such details when it comes to me and not at crime scenes.”

John slapped Sherlock’s arse, called him a brat, and went to make tea, while Sherlock decorated the tree.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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[vibratingskull]

₊ ˙ ⊹ .Thrawn x F!reader x Thurfian₊ ˙ ⊹ .

part 1

Tags : Fluff, soft, negotiation/discussion, pregnancy reveal

You and your husband invited Thrawn to discuss something important, but will he come?

You sigh as your comb passes through your locks, preparing yourself for the soirée to come. 

‘’Relax, Visaot. It is just a dinner.’’ Your husband declares, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you with a smug grin. 

‘’I know… But it is with him. I cannot refrain the beating of my heart.’’ You reveal, putting your comb down to style your hair. 

‘’He is nothing more than a Merit Adoptive.’’ 

‘’He is also a proud CEDF officer with a glorious record. We should honor him for that.’’ 

Thurfian hisses, annoyed, approaching your hairdresser, towering right behind you, his flaming gaze burning your exposed skin. 

‘’I get the feeling you worry a lot about the wrong man in your life lately...” 

You slowly put on the pearls Thurfian gifted you several years ago, adorning your human skin with white and golden polished pearls. He leans over you, almost menacingly, his hand flat on your hairdresser. 

“Do you still remember who your husband is?” He demands regally. 

You cannot help but chuckle and shake your head at his words. Thurfian can be so silly sometimes. 

You raise your head to look at him, cupping his cheek tenderly. 

“I married the best Chiss in existence, of course.” 

He squints at you, his annoyance and jealousy simmering in his burning gaze. You smile softly and lower down his head to tenderly kiss his cheek. 

You slowly feel him relax at the touch of your lips, and a short purr resonates in his chest. He tilts your head to capture your lips in a demanding kiss leaving you breathless. As usual, he remains composed and proud, playing with your lower lip with his thumb. 

“Come on, Visaot. Dinner awaits us.” He offers you his hand to stand up and guide you in the corridors of the Mitth Estate. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

You observe the empty seat in front of you. The long table has been set for three in the special dining room reserved for the Patriarch and their close host for private meetings. 

You turn your head to Thurfian, sampling the scent of his pricey wine in his glass. 

Your own glass is empty. 

“Do you think he will come?” You ask, unsure, “It ended quite badly...” 

Thurfian sniggers mockingly. 

“He would come back crawling if he could. The offer to be forgiven is too great to pass.” 

“You know he doesn’t do well in politics. Maybe he doesn’t see things in the same way...” You worriedly brush your stomach with the tip of your fingers. 

“This has nothing to do with politics for him. He will come and beg for us to forgive him.” 

You would like to think so confidently like your husband... You cannot forget the pain in Thrawn’s eyes when Thurfian chased him away the Master bedroom... 

Maybe you will never have your response... It doesn’t change anything for you, but for them yes. But you would like to know still... It devours you from the inside. 

You are losing hope when a short knock can be heard on the door of the dining room. Full of hope you jump on your feet when Thurfian tsssk at you. 

“You are the Patriarch’s wife, you stand up for no one. Especially a simple Merit Adoptive.” He reminds you haughtily. 

You consider him but sit back down. 

The knock resumes, a little louder, then stops. Exactly the same number of knock. 

You dig your nails into your dress in anticipation while Thurfian lazily spins his wine in the glass. 

“You may enter...” He finally announces. 

The door opens, revealing Mitth’raw’nuruodo in his full Captain Regalia, all in black with his honor medals and ranks on his chest. He is as stern and detached as usual, not an ounce of worry or tension is visible. 

Contrary to you that are in shamble on your seat. 

“Welcome, Captain. Thank you for accepting this dinner invitation.” Thurfian recites the greetings he serves to anyone placidly. 

Thrawn bows, his cap against his heart. 

“Thank you for your invitation Patriarch, I would not have missed it for the entire Nyix of Csilla.” 

You breathe deeply as you see Thurfian’s eye twitch a single time, already annoyed by what he is seeing. 

Thrawn rises back and turns to you. You straighten your posture and raise your head with all the aura the rank of Patriarch’s wife demands but with a tender smile. 

“Welcome, Captain Thrawn. I am pleased to see you at our table this evening.” 

Instead of bowing to you too, Thrawn remains strangely still, like he doesn’t know the proper political etiquette, which you know he doesn't. So he does what he knows best with you: skirts the table with long strides and comes to put one knee to the ground, raising one of your hands to press it to his forehead before kissing it reverently. 

“My Lady...” He whispers, “I longed and hoped for your presence since I opened the invitation.” 

You cup his cheek tenderly and he nudges against your palm with a satisfied sigh. 

“Of course, ch’acah.” You whisper back, feeling your heart beating hard. 

“Adorable. We have matters to discuss together, might I remind you two.” Thurfian intervenes, sipping his wine with detachment. 

Thrawn stands back up, picking a speck of dust off his chest before looking at his Patriarch and responding. 

“Indeed, Patriarch. I hope this evening will be productive and satisfactory to everyone.” He says with a tone flirting with insolence. 

You brace yourself for Thurfian’s storm but against all odds, your husband chuckles, taking a sip of wine. 

“You are brave, Merit adoptive. This is a quality I will always recognize in you. Be careful this bravery doesn’t turn into foolish recklessness.” 

“You need not to worry about me, Patriarch.” Thrawn continues skirting the table again to gain his seat. “I take care of myself for the Ascendancy’s sake.” 

He gently lays his cap on the side and elegantly sits down, right in front of you. He looks at you intently, his shining red eyes flaming with love so ardent you fear he will burn your skin off. You fidget your fingers under the table as your gaze travels between the two men of your life. 

You are reunited again, once more. 

At last... 

After that fiasco... 

“Patriarch...” Thrawn starts before being stopped by Thurfian’s hand gesture. 

“Not yet, Merit Adoptive. This is a dinner, let’s eat first. (Y/n) absolutely needs to eat.” 

Thrawn blinks with some polite surprise and interest. 

“Oh? Is she following a new diet? Is she ill?” He turns his head back at you with concern, “Are you all right, ch’eo Ch’acah?” 

“Yes! Yes I am, do not worry, Thrawn.” You immediately clear things up so as not to worry him. 

“She needs to eat three meals a day from now on, as she tended to skip some before.” Thurfian frowns at you with reproach. 

“I am just so invested in my duties, Ch’acah, you know it.” You diplomatically respond, “You know I lose track of everything when I am passionate about something.” 

Thurfian shakes his head in disagreement. 

“I was troubled by the same bad habits.” Thrawn enjoins, “I can help you to remember to take care of your needs.” He gentlemanly proposes. 

Thurfian dramatically gestures to the Captain with ironic satisfaction. 

“See? Listen to your toy, Visaot. He knows what he is talking about.” 

You shake your head to Thurfian, warning him with a glare and he winks at you in response. 

“Although, when the time comes to study art from our enemies, I can remain for long periods without sustenance and sleeping, lost in the contemplation.” Thrawn recognizes. 

“Ah! See? Like me!” You point out, “I get lost in contemplation.” 

Thurfian opens his mouth and closes it back immediately as domestics enter the dining room with silver trays and plates under cloches. They silently and elegantly put the plates on the table, you smile and thank the domestic closest to you and he bows back in response. 

Thurfian frowns at you again, so you stick your tongue at him. 

You may be the Patirarch’s wife but that should not excuse you from basic politeness! 

They lift the cloches and you can already hear your stomach grumbling, so many delicious and delightful scented dishes are in front of you and you cannot choose which one to start with! 

You choose some entree, some vegetables, and salad, and eyeball the champagne petits fours with hunger. 

Thrawn notices and gently pushes the plate toward you with a tight smile. Thurfian intercepts it and takes it away. 

“She cannot have that.” 

“Those are some of her favorites.” Thrawn argues in your favor. 

“I know. She cannot have them either way.” Thurfian closes the matter without mercy. 

Thrawn turns his head toward you with confusion and some offense in your behalf. 

You swallow your bite and spin toward your husband. 

“Maybe we should tell him now, maybe?” You propose. 

“Already? We are only at the entree.” Thurfian asks, “It is bad manners to open the subject that early.” 

You clear your throat, an insisting gaze on Thurfian. He considers you and sighs.  

He takes out a small ornamented box off his pocket and slides it toward Thrawn. 

Thrawn observes the carved box with a slight surprise but very cautiously, raising an inquisitive gaze towards his Patriarch, careful to not enter any political trap. 

“That is not from me, Merit Adoptive. It's from her.” Thurfian immediately stops him from imagining anything. 

“Oh...” Thrawn lets out, gently seizing the box as he flashes you a smile, “Thank you Ch’acah.” 

You nod, feeling your heart beat fast. 

He elegantly opens the box and 

Froze 

His face is stern and no emotion comes troubling it but he is very much paralyzed. He takes what is inside to raise it closer to his eyes, breathless. 

A pregnancy test 

Positive 

He gulps, before looking into your eyes. 

“Is that... True?” 

You nod. 

He immediately stands up to skirt the table, seizes your cheeks between his large hands, and presses his lips on yours hard, robbing you of your breath. He parts reluctantly from you, sighing deeply, pressing his forehead to you, holding you close as you take his hand in yours. 

“Warrior, a baby. You are pregnant, Ch’acah!” He lets our pantless and excited. 

“I remembered you with better table manners than that, Merit Adoptive.” Thurfian berates him, cutting his meat, “Control yourself and show better respect to your Patriarch’s wife.” 

Thrawn grabs your hand and kisses it reverently, looking into your gaze with feverish hope before kissing your forehead tenderly. 

“Sit down, we need to discuss Captain.” Thurfian says incredibly seriously, all trace of mockery gone. 

Thrawn parts from you with regrets and sits back down in his chair. 

“As you now know, (Y/n) is pregnant.” Thurfian turns toward you and grabs your hand to gently squeeze it with a soft grin, “We are expecting. That baby may be mine...” He turns back to Thrawn gravely, “Or it may be yours.” 

“That’s why we invited you tonight.” You explain 

Thurfian snaps his fingers and a single waiter appears with a cloche and reveals it to Thrawn. 

“We need a blood sample for further testing.” Thurfian casually explains, his thumb brushing your hand while he looks at Thrawn. 

Without a once of hesitation, Thrawn grabs the little machine on the tray to prick his finger and collect blood, clicking the vial back in the machine. 

“When will we know?” He asks with a calm tone, but turmoil boils in his red eyes. 

“We cannot know before her 4th month.” Thurfian collects the machine back, “We will keep you in touch.” 

“I hope to be more than in touch.” Thrawn almost insolently respond, “I think this situation calls for me to take an active role.” 

“IF the baby is yours...” Thurfian shoots him down, agitating the machine under Thrawn’s nose, “This is nothing but uncertain. If this is my baby, you will have nothing to do with us. You could come back to your ship with a free mind.” 

“I have very clear memories you accepted Lady (Y/n) to carry my baby if I accepted to follow your terms. You accepted that I keep loving and courting her.” 

“I remember.” Thurfian declares with an icy cold tone, biting down his red meat. 

“I hope you are honorable enough to keep your word, Patriarch.” 

“Be very careful with your words, Merit Adoptive. You have no powers here.” Your husband lets your lover know, an edge of threat in the voice. 

“Either way.” You intervene before Thrawn digs his tomb deeper, “We wanted you here with us tonight to celebrate the good news of my pregnancy.” You smile reassuringly to ease the atmosphere. 

“I am delighted by that news.” Thrawn finally says after looking darkly at the Mitth Patriarch, turning toward you with a tight grin. 

You extend your hand to Thrawn who delicately takes it to brush it with his thumb and squeeze Thurfian’s hand around yours, commanding both of their attention. 

“Whoever the biological father is, I hope you will be both in the life of this baby.” 

“I will.” Thrawn reassures softly. 

Thufian sniffs with disdain. 

“Do not feel obligated to spend too much time with my children, Captain. You have so many important duties toward the Ascendancy.” 

You clear your throat, frowning at your husband. He considers you before sighing and raise your hand to his lips to kiss it gently. 

“If you order me, Visaot.” 

You squeeze both of their hands, your two loves. 

Soon to be three. 

You will need them both to raise a half chiss on Csilla. The power of a Patriarch and the guts of a Senior Captain will not be too much. 

“Now eat, Visaot. Chiss Pregnancy will exhaust your human body, you need all the energy possible!” Thurfian orders regally. 

You nod and take a bite of your entree, feeding your baby to give them a lot of energy. 

They will need it. 

@bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @thrawnspetgoose @thrawnalani @twilekchiss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @elise2174 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @princesslunamoon19 @janjtje @helrose8 @debonaire_princess @courier-jackalope 

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 11: Barn Burner

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: You and Bucky will fight your way through whatever you can to get Curtis

Word count: 2,433

Content/warnings: Interrogation, mention of tranquilizer darts, mob themes, kissing, swears, let me know if I missed anything

Author’s Note: everyone say a biiiiig thank you to @hawkeyes-queen for the motivation for me finishing this chapter. Thank you, darling. And I hope to answer your ask with a blurb soon. This occurs at the same time as Ch. 8 of The Rainmaker and Ch. 4 of Handiwork

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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You stood there with your arms and legs crossed, leaning against a hay bale in the old barn. In front of you sat two men that you were less than pleased with, still unconscious thanks to the power of Bucky’s fist.

Bucky paced the floor in front of you, on the phone with an ally from the city: Stark. Apparently Lloyd had been causing him grief, as well, for some time now, and after you two were done with him, that’s where he’d be going to be dealt with. Some underground weapons bunker it seemed.

As he hung up the phone, Bucky placed his hands on his hips, stopped in front of you, and sighed. His face looked so tired, eyes sunken in, brows pulled together in distress. You were sure it mirrored your own.

You uncrossed your arms, taking a step towards him as he reached for your waist. Strands of hair that had grown a little too long flopped in front of his forehead and you pushed them back, running your fingers through his hair, giving Bucky the only taste of relaxation he was sure to get tonight. That was probably a good thing. Bucky had already lost his worn bar clothes in favor of a suit, ready for all the business that was sure to take up this night.

As you brushed a palm against his stubbly cheek, he leaned into your touch, a soft hum leaving his lips that was taken from his grasp as soon as it came when the sound of fabric rustling reached both of your ears. Lloyd was stirring awake.

Bucky stood up stark straight at that, but turned his head and kissed your palm before the tenderness left his eyes, replaced with a cold working demeanor.

He turned around, his bulky shoulders doing their best to shield you from Lloyd. You peeked around him anyway, though, catching the way Lloyd’s eyelashes fluttered open, his dark eyebrows raising in amusement when he registered that he was sitting in front of the mob boss he once called a friend. He let out a low whistle.

“Ah, Bucky! Bucky, Bucky, Bucky Barnes. What a pleasure to be dealt with personally. Heard you’ve got goons out the wazoo these days, which is surprising, considering how much I’ve enjoyed personally knocking them off lately.”

If he weren’t already stiff as a board, Bucky would’ve tensed at that. So many innocent people were dead at the hand of Lloyd, a series of killings in the city. Whether they were workers in the family or tangentially related, some of them unknowing of their connections until it was too late, Lloyd had shamelessly gone after them. A barista, a hairdresser, and several lower-level guards taken because they were accessible; something that Bucky worked hard to make sure you and he weren’t. But he hadn’t even thought about the friends of friends. Or just friends, including Curtis, that Lloyd could apparently so easily snatch.

Lloyd was shuffling in his seat, likely feeling around for one of the various knives he kept hidden on his body, but Bucky shook his head and shook off Lloyd’s previous attempt at a jab.

“You’re not gonna find any weapons on your person, Hansen. I strip searched you already. Personally. Checked all your old hiding places and some new ones. Don’t forget who taught you those hiding spots in the first place. I will applaud you for being creative with the new ones, though.”

Lloyd lifted his head, a smirk rising under his mustache, covering the small disappointment of being weaponless. He cocked his head to the side, giving a wink to Bucky.

“Ooooo, kinky. Didn’t know you were such a freak, Buck. But I guess that’s just the natural course when you date someone like Lil for so long.”

Bucky let a huff out of his nose. He was trying his best to remain stoic, but Lloyd knew just the right ways to get under his skin. You took a step forward and put a steadying hand on Bucky’s back. You didn’t want him to appear weak, but you knew you’d get nothing if this whole thing went south. It was all about getting Curtis back and keeping Lloyd in custody. Veering from the plan wasn’t worth the risk.

Lloyd noticed your action, the smirk on his face growing into a shit-eating smile.

“Well if it isn’t the sweet peach, here to calm down big, bad Bucky.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at that. He didn’t want you anywhere near Lloyd, but you insisted, and he was no one to tell you that you couldn’t do something.

Lloyd leaned towards you as much as the ropes around his chest would allow, as if he was about to tell a secret.

“No need to come to the rescue, cupcake. He ever tell you the things he’s done to rise to the top? This is nothing. I’m surprised he doesn’t have me hanging from the rafters by my toenails already.”

He was too sure of himself. He must’ve not known just how much Bucky had told you about himself in your time together, which pretty much aligned with all you had coaxed Steve and Sam to tell you previously. You knew a lot, but still not everything, especially about Lillian. But you trusted Bucky. That was what mattered.

You stayed silent while Lloyd pressed his shoulders back. He was attempting to steal the power back from Bucky through you, even in the evident power imbalance that was ongoing. His cockiness was filling the room, almost suffocating. Before you could make another movement, Steve, who had been standing up against the barn wall, took long strides towards you, grabbing your upper arm.

He led you out of the barn, into the cool night air. You looked up at him with slight confusion. Nothing you hadn’t expected had happened yet, but Steve knew Bucky even better than you, so he must’ve had good reason. His face, full of sadness that was only slightly mixed with his stoic work demeanor was matched with tight lips before he spoke, eyes boring urgently into yours.

“Bee, why don’t you go grab Cherry? Maybe she can help us. Bucky is about to do something I’m sure you’re not gonna want to watch, and I’m sure a calmer hand will be needed. Especially for Cole.”

Without a word, just a concerned expression, you simply nodded and headed back to the house.

You could tell Cherry was nervous with the way she bit her nails on the whole walk as you led her to the interrogation barn. You weren’t sure how much Bucky had done since you were gone, but you could tell it was probably a lot based off the bruises you could see forming on the mob boss’s hand when you walked in. Lloyd’s face had grown several fresh marks, as well, that would likely look much worse tomorrow, but the look on his face wouldn’t have given that away. He smiled through the grime that physically and metaphorically coated him.

You looked over at Cole who must’ve woken up not too long ago, a look near terror on his face. As gruesome as it was, even the right of one of your beloved cows giving birth hadn’t prepared you for the sight of pain inflicted on one man by another. If Lillian was as twisted as Bucky and Lloyd had made her seem, you were beyond scared for Curtis.

You shuffled further into the barn, taking a place by Steve, who stood calmly watching the scene. As soon as you had walked through the door, Bucky had turned to see you, his eyes wild, but they softened just the slightest bit as he made his way over to start discussing strategy.

“I can’t get jack shit with Lloyd here, fucking bastard. I know Cole will squeal as soon as he’s alone, though. We just need to-“

He was cut off by a sound that made you all turn your heads. The rafters of the barn creaked and down swung Decks, before landing onto the soft floor with a rustle of the thin smattering of hay over a bare dirt floor. The action caught the attention of the captives, too, as they watched her stalk over to them. Her shoulders were stiff, unyielding. You had only seen her like this once before. In a bar, when a guy she had gone on a couple of dates with spilled his drink on you and didn’t apologize. Except, compared to her demeanor now, that seemed like an anger level of two. This was an eleven.

Steve made a movement to go towards her, but Bucky barred him with an arm. That was a good idea. It was never smart for anyone to get in her way when she got like this, and that included Lloyd and Cole. They were in her way in the act of finding Curtis. She spoke in a low and even tone, but the urgency and spite in her voice was almost deafening.

“I’ll give you one more shot. I’m sick of watching this dance. Where. Is. Curtis?”

Cole stuttered, “I-I don’t know.”

Smack. In a flash, his head was tossed to the side, looking down towards the ground, red already filling his cheek. Beside you, Steve flinched, and based on the look that Bucky gave him, you could assume that was not something the second in command often did.

“Wrong answer.”

She took a step to her left, putting herself directly in front of Lloyd.

“Where?”

Her voice was alarmingly even to an outsider, but you could just barely pick up on the increasing annoyance. It was calm, yet rage-filled. Lloyd shook his head as his shoulders rose and fell with laughter. Bad idea. Your eyes darted down to see the way Decks’s fists tightened.

“Oh, come on, Pumpkin. You’re a smartie. Bet you’re a sweet peach just like your friend, too, but I’m not giving up whe-“

Punch. Right to the jaw. Good. You hated that he kept calling you that. It was a reminder of someone you no longer were. And a signal of just how far off the mark Lloyd was from gauging this situation.

It was almost in slow motion as Lloyd fell to the hay floor in a heap with a dull thump and a rustle. She had knocked him out cold.

Her eyes were fixed on Cole again.

“Is that motivation enough for you to help us now?”

Cole furiously nodded and looked back over his shoulder at Cherry. “I’ll talk to her.”

It was obviously so he could deal with the one furthest removed from knowing how to properly run business, but the request was turned down quickly as the tall blond beside you took a long stride towards the center of the barn and shook his head.

“No way. You lost your right to negotiate when you let Lloyd cross that line. You talk to me or you don’t have a tongue to talk anymore. Got it?”

Cole swallowed in nervousness. In the next second, Bucky caught your eye. With a jerk of his head, he wordlessly gestured for you to take Cherry out of the barn and you nodded, gently guiding her out as quickly as the two of you came in. Decks was already nearly out of sight, halfway across the field to the house.

Soon before the sunrise, you met Bucky out on the porch. He was on the steps below you, looking up and rubbing his hands up and down your sides as his crew loaded vehicles behind him. Your hands cradled his jaw as he explained the situation to you.

“Curtis isn’t being held too far from here. Apparently Lillian is still there, too. We’ll take care of it all.”

You nodded, your thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek. “Okay. Be careful. Save my cousin.”

Bucky nodded, looking deeply into your eyes and observing them grow hard, tough, fiery for a moment. “…and burn it all down. To the ground. I mean it. I’m sick of this shit and it’s gotta end. I don’t deserve this, Decks doesn’t, and Curtis and Cherry sure as hell don’t.”

Bucky smiled at your fierce statement, going on his toes for a quick kiss. “You got it, Honey. See you in a little.”

Bucky set fire to the farm with ease. Lillian was nothing when it came to the power he held. She met him at the front entrance to one of Cole’s farm property, her heels, inappropriate for the situation, rolling in the gravel.

“James. It’s nice to see you. Come to crawl back to me? It’s too bad that I’ve already got someone else.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He just had to buy time while his men got in position and Steve got to Curtis.

“No, Lil. But Steve did always warn me that it seemed like you had a thing for inept, kicked puppies. I should’ve predicted Cole would become your next little plaything.”

She smirked with her red lips and shrugged. “Well, that could’ve been you, but it looks like you’ve turned into what you always dreaded. A pawn trying to take on the queen and king.”

Bucky chuckled. “So you’re calling yourself a queen now? And who’s the king? Cole? Lloyd? Both equally cringe-inducing options.”

Before Lillian or the guard behind her could make a move or say another word, a dart was shot into their necks and she tumbled into Bucky’s arms. More of Bucky’s guards emerged from the surrounding tall grass, taking care of the two of them and waiting for their next steps.

Meanwhile, you were trying to hold the house together, cooking breakfast for a worried Cherry and an angry Decks. Cherry was dealing, though, but Decks was a mess. But you knew a lot was happening for her. Betraying her trust and putting so much pressure on her wasn’t what you had wanted to do, but it was the only option you could see.

As your mind was wandering with menial tasks, though, you got a notification on your phone from the security sensors that Peter had installed, indicating something was coming up the driveway. You prayed it was Curtis and he was in one piece.

Based on Cherry first tossing a mug at the wall in surprise, which luckily wasn’t one of your nice ones, you weren’t sure, but then you heard Curtis’s voice and you finally felt yourself relax for the first time in a month.

As soon as Curtis entered, Decks gave him a big hug before he came and did the same to you.

Next >

Bonus A/N: it’s been awhile, but I’m glad to be getting back to this. Thank you for reading, I’d really appreciate hearing about what you thought through comments, reblogs, and asks. Much love!

Taglist: @mrsnikstan @multifandomreader73 @scuzmunkie @openup-yourmind @vicmc624 @hawkeyes-queen @blackhawkfanatic @morgthemagpie @buckybarnessimpp @calwitch @thesarcasmqueen-22 @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @steviebbboi

[echo-bleu]

Noldor hair headcanons (2/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

By the time they’re settled in Beleriand, the Nolofinwëans have largely switched from elaborate styles done by someone else to (slightly) simpler self-braided styles. They’re at war now, so they turn toward practical braids that keep their hair out of their face during combat. There’s more and more of a gap between everyday styles and ceremonial styles.

The Fëanorians however are still doing things the old way. Maedhros is very unhappy that he can no longer braid people’s hair properly (especially Fingon’s) (he learns to do it one-handed eventually, but it’s never as perfect) (Fingon doesn’t mind).

The Sindar wear their hair half-up or even loose. However, they like to play with each other’s hair, and it’s not reserved for family, which is Very Weird for the Noldor to see. Galadriel has a hard time getting used to it and doesn’t let anyone touch her hair beside Celeborn, but she eventually figures out that her hair dazzles people even more when it’s loose, so she starts leaving it down.

It’s even harder to untangle as a result, and Celeborn suffers. (Galadriel is not not into hair pulling.)

Melian and Lúthien’s hair is so silky that braids just undo themselves. Elrond and Elros partly inherit that, and Elrond spends his whole life mourning that fact (he wants to do his hair like Maedhros, okay?).

Finrod is the first elf to let a Man touch his hair. He’s travelling alone and he’s touch-deprived, can you blame him? (It’s Bëor. It results in several uncomfortable conversations.)

Curufin makes himself and his brothers sharpened hairpins and various other weapons disguised as hair jewellery.

Hairstyles mingle during the Siege until, in the more cosmopolitan realms, Noldor and Sindar are no longer identifiable at first sight. Some Noldor elect to keep their hair mostly loose (though almost never entirely) while many Sindar learn the Battle Braids. They are very convenient, after all.

Avari hair customs are very different. It’s mostly about hair brushing/care being very intimate. They usually wear hairdresses or hair covering of some kind, depending on the tribe they belong to.

Gondolin has stayed highly conservative about hair, with hairstyles almost as complex as Tirion in its noontide.

Maeglin hates having his hair touched even more than his mother.

I’m tempted to make Eöl an asshole on this too, who cuts Aredhel’s hair or something, but I think she just never lets him touch her and he doesn’t care enough to try.

Maeglin grows up with his hair loose up until Aredhel takes them to Gondolin, where she remembers how Turgon is about hair, and braids Maeglin’s and her own in hopes of Looking Natural.

Maeglin’s first impression of Gondolin is that Hair Braiding Hurts (though not as much as adar’s hands). It goes downhill from there.

He’s still jealous when he catches Idril doing Tuor’s hair. Tuor doesn’t even have the decency of having beautiful Noldor hair, so it doesn’t even look that good. The next day, Idril’s braids are very wonky and Maeglin, upon seeing her, completely messes up the hair clip he was making her.

Eärendil has Tuor’s hair. It’s fine, because Elwing refuses to do Noldor braids.

Glorfindel is a Vanya and wears his hair completely loose.

We all know how that ends.

Maglor’s hair is partly burned off in Dagor Bragollach. He spends an uncomfortable few years growing it back and recovering from smoke inhalation. He revives some ridiculous hair-related ditties from his youth as voice therapy and they’re soon heard throughout Beleriand.

Finrod, badly injured and with no bodies of his brothers to bury, makes up a self-braided version of the Mourning Braids (It involves only braiding the hair from the shoulders down. That’s largely because he couldn’t raise his arms at that point, but it becomes a feature of all Mourning Braids—except Maglor’s style—for two ages to come.)

For the first time since the Ice, Fingolfin asks Fingon to do his hair, the morning after they hear of Morgoth’s victory.

He braids Rochallor’s mane and tail before setting out.

Rochallor walks back into Hithlum some days after the Eagle comes, his hair still braided. He lies down and dies with his head in Fingon’s arms.

Turgon braids his father’s hair before burying him, as he did with Elenwë, as he did with Aredhel. There is a custom that’s been developing among the Noldor of Beleriand to only give the dead a single, simple braid, so that they don’t risk being too attached to their body and miss the call from Mandos, but Turgon doesn’t know of it. No one has died in Gondolin since it was built, aside from Aredhel and Eöl.

Finrod and his Ten braid each other’s hair the night after they leave Nargothrond. Beren watches them with no understanding of the custom.

They later find out that werewolves spit out the hair when they devour someone.

It’s not a nice sight.

Beren and Lúthien do their best to clean Finrod’s beautiful golden braids of blood before they bury him, even though neither of them quite get what the braids mean to the Noldor.

Fingon’s golden ribbons are marred with blood when they find his body on the battlefield. His braids are the only way to identify him for certain.

Maedhros revives Maglor’s Mourning Braids. Mostly because Maglor does them for him. Maedhros would be fine with No One Ever Touching His Hair Again, but he’s close to catatonic.

Then the Oath awakes once more.

Celegorm’s white hunting braids and Dior’s black silky hair mingle on the blood-stained floor of Doriath’s throne room.

It takes Maglor longer to find Caranthir and Curufin. He carefully braids their hair into a single plait before they burn the bodies, in case it could help them find Mandos.

Maybe they are for the Void, but at least he feels like he’s done something.

The years up to the Third Kinslaying are awful. Maedhros and Maglor are codependent to an unhealthy degree, while the twins will barely speak to them, or each other. Maglor still does Maedhros’s hair. Maedhros doesn’t return the favour. They scream at each other daily.

Sirion is unthinkable. They attack anyway. Maedhros and Ambarussa’s braids look like bloodstains in the twilight.

Elwing’s hair floats around her as she falls.

To be continued

[anxiousbrazilianstuff]

I'm going to tell some more of my headcanons about Jack because I love this boy🙏

SEVERE YAPS BELOW ‼️

— He knows how to sew, like, he lived on the streets and probably other newsies too, they technically wouldn't have much money to buy clothes, and most of the ones they have must already be worn out and torn, so he learned how to at least patch some clothes, and most of their clothes have these patches that he makes

— He maybe also knows how to take care of hair, not like a hairdresser, but he knows how to do some hairstyles, because just like they had newsboys, they had newsgirls too, and because he's older, he and other newsies the same age, probably take care of the younger girls' hair, because it is physically PAINFUL to run around in the heat with your hair loose and probably tangled, most of it gets a bit crooked, but he tries🤷

— I mentioned this in a previous post, but he is dyslexic, and because of the time, he probably just thought he was dumb because In the 1890s the disorders were not exactly known or taken seriously, he just learned the basics with a lot of effort, but still, that kid will NOT understand anything that is slightly more "fancy", and I saw a hc in that same post that in contrast David is hyperlexic, so 99% of the time, he's talking and Jack is looking at him with the most "🤨??" look in his life

— He is always full of doodles on his arms, whether it is a spiral or the most elaborate drawing of his life, his arm is never clean

— His teeth are crooked, some are broken, I mean, this kid is always getting into fights 😭 at least one of his teeth is broken, and I also have the hc of him having sharp canine teeth, I don't know why, it just makes sense 🤷

— He can go on rambling for hours about any subject related to painting, you mention drawing and this boy will be looking at you with the biggest eyes in the world waiting for you to authorize him to speak

— He CANNOT be still, he's talking? He's walking in circles, or gesturing, or pacing, he just physically can't be still

— He's latino, ofc ofc, I'm latino, I know what I'm talking about

[mistfallengw2]

Slowly losing my mind as I finally try to figure out the timeline of Aurelia's hairstyles, and cursing myself for giving her braids in the first place.

Few notes to expand old ones and older ones:

- In the Legions, efficiency beat style, so she kept her mane short outside of the year and a half that she spent recovering from a mission, being pregnant and then nursing Adamas (they weren't in battles anyway, due to Ardea needing that long to fully recover). Little braid was first made by baby Adamas, and it stuck for sentimental reasons. - She stays 4 years in the Mists (Tyria time, she has no way to know how much time passed for her) and her mane grows out while she's in the Fractal, having a grand ol' time with the corruption from [redacted]. Back in Tyria she shaves the whole matted mess off, but keeps the braid. - Keeps it short in the Vigil, but attempts at hair-care are few and far between as Pact Commander in Orr, so it grows. She wanted to cut it after their victory, but eh, might as well keep it since Adamas and Ellara insist it's a good look on the Commander. - Starting s2 she begins to braid it/others do so for her (think mane styling for horses) as it keeps growing. Usually simple styles she can quickly do on her own or last long enough, mainly ones that keep her mane compact and out of places where it can get stuck/dirty, though on big occasions she is convinced to (let someone else) do something more elaborated or even decorated. - As it grows longer and downtime lessens due to s3 events, she starts braiding it in less and bigger braids, till it becomes a big one by early PoF. - Balthazar is a shitty hairdresser, but most of her mane is saved. The little braid is severely damaged, but it gets salvaged using a lock out of Adamas's mane as extensions. She asks for it to be tied back (around her horn and into the rest of the mane) for safety, since she will have to fight Balthazar again and doesn't want a repeat. - Aurene getting stronger boosts her powers, which includes her already prodigious regeneration... and a boost to her mane's growth (horns can't regrow, but they get replaced with crystals). By IBS she has the fullest healthiest mane she ever had, it even shines like never before! - She was not in the mood of dealing with haircuts and was told it'd be good for her image at the Rally, then it was comfy while dealing with the icy weather. After becoming finally official with Ellara, she actually asks her to take care of her mane for her (instead of waiting for her to offer help with it), and the volume gets regularly reduced to a manageable level. Sometimes she even lets Ellara braid it all fancy for no particular reason. - Not pictured, but when the little braid is long enough, she can easily tuck it behind her side horn to keep it out of the way.